Our Hearts Beat As One
by Paleodex
Summary: G1 Drabbles, ficlets and other shorts centered around the twins, written for the fanfic100 challenge. Latest ficlet: 060. Drink - Sideswipe has a little too much, and Prowl is not impressed. Angst.
1. 077 What?

_Prompt: 077. What?_

Sideswipe whooped and tightened his grip as his current victim barrel-rolled in an attempt to throw him off. The endeavor was futile of course, the red hellion had already learned how to safely wrap his legs around the seeker to keep himself from falling.

"Can't get rid of me that easily Crackerjack!"

The mech below him growled in response and put on a burst of speed. Autobot and Decepticon were momentarily blinded as they flew into a cloud, and were entirely soaked by the time they shot out the other end.

"You know that doesn't work Decepti-freak, now hold still, I'm trying something new."

Apparently, Thundercracker chose to obey, and it was a wise decision on his part. The last time Sideswipe had tried something new, the seeker had protested vehemently and they had left an interesting blue and red smear on the mountainside. Then again, attempting to steer a Decepticon jet through a network of canyons isn't the most intelligent idea in the first place.

With Thundercracker flying steadily beneath him, Sideswipe slowly loosened his vice grip around the seeker. He lay flat on top of the jet for a few moments, and when Thundercracker continued to fly in a straight line, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

"What the slag are you doing?" Thundercracker's shook once beneath the red twin, and Sideswipe shifted to grip a wing tightly.

"Hush, I have to concentrate."

With the jet holding still once more, Sideswipe tucked his legs beneath himself and rose into a crouch. After balancing there for a moment, he slowly began to stand.

"Are you insane? If you fall, your brother's gonna kill me!"

"Exactly. So don't move."

His hands sticking out for balance, Sideswipe rose steadily until he was standing and shuffled his feet outwards. He stood victorious for a few moments, grinning madly from his perch atop the seeker. It didn't last long however, because Thundercracker's flight path took them straight through another cloud. The sudden shock of cold water was just enough to distract Sideswipe and the red twin tumbled head over heels into the abyss. Apparently, flying through a cloud _was_ an effective way to lose an annoying twin.

A few seconds into his freefall, Sideswipe righted himself and managed to deploy his parachute to break his descent. Of course, parachutes don't allow for a lot of maneuverability, and a bright red parachute accompanied by a bright red mech is hard to miss. By the time he hit the ground, Buzzsaw and Lazerbeak had managed to tear him and his paractute up quite nicely. He responded in kind of course, and the pair limped off to Soundwave rather pathetically after he was done.

To say Ratchet was unimpressed with his antics was an understatement. The surly CMO was apocalyptic. When Sideswipe hobbled into the medbay, supported by his twin and holding a mangled arm courtesy of the cassette birds, Ratchet whipped the nearest tool, sending it whistling through the air towards him. It hit the twin's head with a resounding clang, leaving a sizeable dent in his black helmet.

"WHAT THE SLAG WAS THAT?!"

Sideswipe glanced down at the tool that now sat by his feet.

"It's a ratchet," he deadpanned.

Another tool was sent flying towards the red twin, who had the sense to duck and let it sail over his head before straightening again.

"And that would be a wrench."

Ratchet's optics narrowed to slits as he stormed towards Sideswipe, grabbed him by one of his helmet horns and yanked him towards an exam table. The medic then pushed Sideswipe onto it and began yanking at damaged circuitry that would have to be replaced.

"What," tug "was that slag," tug "WITH THUNDERCRACKER?!" yank "Anyone ever tell you not to play with the enemy?" The burnt wires that Ratchet had been puling on finally came loose and Sideswipe yelped as they were torn out. Apparently they had been part of his sensory network because the pain in his arm was now dulled to a low throb. With the pain nearly gone and Ratchet's glaring face inches from his own, Sideswipe grinned.

"Seeker Surfing."

Across the Ark, Prowl winced as he heard the sound of Ratchet's yelling, followed by the sound of something very large colliding with another something large, which was probably Sideswipe judging by the ensuing yelp.

_Word Count: 727_

_A/N: Oh come on, tell me ya didn't see it coming! _


	2. 037 Sound

_Prompt: 037. Sound_

Sunstreaker was startled out of recharge by a startled yelp, swiftly followed by a resounding crash.

"Owwwwwwww…"

The yellow twin rolled over onto his side with a moan. After rubbing at his optics a moment, he lifted the shutters covering them and looked down towards whatever had caused the noise. His brother was sprawled on the floor, face-down with his limbs splayed around himself in a way that made him resemble organic road-kill.

"Sideswipe?" he muttered, still half in recharge and now in a partially upright position. "What the slag?"

The moaning red heap groaned in response, rising slightly before flopping back onto the floor like a grounded fish. Sideswipe emitted a gaggle of nonsensical sounds before lifting his head to look dazedly at his twin.

"D'you get th' liscence plate o'that truck?"

The head dropped back onto the floor with a _clank._

Sunstreaker swung his legs over the edge of his berth and prodded his brother with a foot. "What d'you do? Trip over your own feet and faceplant?"

Sideswipe batted at the foot fruitlessly before muttering something into the ground.

"You what?"

The red twin sighed. "I fell of my bunk."

Sunstreaker snorted once and stared at his brother for a moment before exploding into peals of laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Sunstreaker managed to control himself and help his brother to his feet. After few attempted steps and a painful collision with the wall, it was discovered that Sideswipe's equilibrium gyros had been knocked out of sync. After another bout of laughter and a short struggle, Sunstreaker managed to get an arm around his brother's waist and lead him slowly out of the room.

--

It was plainly obvious that Ratchet wasn't exactly charitable at 4:00 in the morning.

"_DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS?_ _WHAT THE SLAG DID YOU DO, FALL OFF YOUR BERTH?"_ 

Sideswipe stared blankly at the medic, blinking under his withering glare.

The glare dropped from Ratchet's face, replaced by a look of shocked horror. "You did not."

Sideswipe nodded.

"You actually fell off your berth?"

Another nod.

Ratchet was extremely satisfied by the sound of wrench-hitting-slaghead, and grinned maniacally at the ensuing clatter as Sideswipe dropped onto the medbay floor.

_Word Count: 377_


	3. 043 Square

Prompt: 043

_Prompt: 043. Square_

"Prowl, stop shooting me! I'm on your side, remember?"

Prowl sighed in exasperation and looked down at his thumbs. "I thought the square button was run?"

Yellow hands were soon on his, readjusting his grip on the game controller. "Circle is run, and square is shoot."

After a quick mishap with a hand-grenade rebounding off the passage wall, Prowl managed to set his character running through the narrow corridor and towards the stone staircase. These he navigated without much trouble and he soon found himself running blindly through the game's terrain. Right, left, down the stairs, two more lefts, and…what?

Prowl gawked at the strange blob that was occupying the otherwise empty room. He carefully nudged his character to the right, hoping a different angle would show him what exactly he was looking at. The movement brought him closer to the unknown object, prompting a name to pop up above it.

Oh! It was another player! After a quick glance down at the controller, Prowl began to mash the square button and pepper his enemy with artillery fire.

Beside him, Sunstreaker yelped and jumped in his seat. "Prowl! What the slag, that's me again! Stop!"

The tactician lifted his thumb from the square button and looked back at the screen. Sure enough, the other player was labeled "Sunstreaker", and his health meter had dropped to a few notches above "dead".

"Look, you have to read the names before you shoot, okay?"

Prowl nodded and looked back up at the screen just in time to catch Sideswipe streaking across it. He had been about to reposition his thumb over the "shoot" button when a hand grenade came flying towards them. The controlled vibrated in Prowl's hands as his character was sent flying backwards and into a wall.

"Slag it! You killed me Sides!"

Sure enough, Sunstreaker's portion of the screen was darkened, the words "Game Over" flashing in bold letters across it.

"It's just you now Prowl, you have to kill him."

Determined to prove that, yes, he was able to play video games, Prowl began edging out of the room, wary of another grenade attack. With Sideswipe nowhere in sight, he set his character to a run and began searching for the elusive twin.

It seemed that Sideswipe was quite good at this game. Several times, Prowl saw the other player bolt through his line of vision, only to disappear around a corner before he managed to shoot. It was immensely frustrating, as was Sideswipe's uncanny ability to know exactly where the teleport pods were.

It was with stunned surprise that Prowl reacted to finding Sideswipe cornered in a dead end. The other player stood, staring at him for a moment before Sideswipe cackled maniacally and begun mashing the controller.

_Click._

Both Prowl and Sideswipe cocked their heads at the sound. The red twin had his gun pointed at Prowl, and was still hitting the "shoot" button, but all that came of it was the annoying, dull, click.

A slow smile spread across Sunstreaker's face as he realized what was going on. At this range, a hand grenade would kill both players, and Sideswipe appeared to be out of ammo.

"He's out of ammo, Prowl _he's out of ammo_!"

Prowl stared dumbly at the screen for a moment before grinning in understanding. He began thumbing the controller, only to have his camera angle swerve wildly around his character.

"Prowl, shoot!"

Panicked, Prowl switched buttons and stared in confusion as his player began to jump on the spot.

Sunstreaker, in near hysterics now, was screeching frantically in Prowl's audio.

"Shoot Prowl! SHOOT!"

Again, Prowl rearranged his thumbs only to have his character drop into a crouch.

Sideswipe watched in amazement as Prowl's character began a strange erratic dance in front of him, jumping, kicking and bouncing around on the spot. The narrow passages were too narrow to let him move around the tactician, and he was forced to wait for him to figure out how to shoot.

"The square button, SQUARE!!"

_Click._

Sunstreaker slapped his forehead with a howl of frustration, tossing his own controller onto the table and marching out of the room.

_Word Count: 682_

_A/N: Prowl's battle computer doesn't like working out the lack of logic in video games, and, he's pretty useless without it :D_


	4. 025 Strangers

They strode into the rec room radiating confidence, their movements feline and deceptively graceful as they took their places a

_Author's Notes: This chapter contains a minimal amount of slash. It is nothing explicit, and there is absolutely no romantic interaction whatsoever, it is simply contemplated briefly in a short conversation between Jazz and Hot Rod. _

_Emm…More Author's Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who dropped a review, faved and added this to their alerts! It's you guys who keep me going!_

--

_Prompt: 025. Strangers_

They strode into the rec room radiating confidence, their movements feline and deceptively graceful as they took their places at a table with Bluestreak and Blaster. Indigo optics gleaming in stark contrast to their paintjobs, they sat and listened to Bluestreak's prattle while they sipped their energon and _glowed_.

Hot Rod's optics widened as he caught sight of their faces, ethereal in this light and so perfect that it was impossible to _not _stare. The one on the left was scowling into his energon, and even with his brow creased as it was, he was beautiful.

Something Bluestreak said must have been funny, because the other one burst out in a laughter that lit up his entire face, and Hot Rod sucked in a tiny gasp.

"Who are _they_?"

Beside him, Jazz followed his optics and caught sight of the flame colored twins.

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, toughest guys on the front line. Don't get to close to Sunstreaker, he's great to have with ya in a fight, but out of battle he's an antisocial ass."

Hot Rod's optics widened even more as he continued to stare at the pair. "But they're so…"

"Gorgeous? Yeah." Jazz turned to look at the twins, who were now being dealt cards for a hand of poker.

A soft sigh escaped Hot Rod's lips as Sunstreaker shifted slightly and the light glinted off his gleaming armor.

"Don't bother man, they ain't available."

Startled, Hot Rod turned his startled face towards Jazz with a jump. "But I, I don't, I didn't-"

Jazz laughed, and it only served to embarrass Hot Rod even more. He sunk down a bit in his chair and turned his optics away, turning his attention to his empty cube of energon.

"Hey, relax kid! Half the crew's had a thing for 'em at some point or another. They're just not interested."

"Oh. Are they together?"

Jazz snickered once, using a hand to muffle the sound before giving up and bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Those two? No way!"

Hot Rod shrunk even further into his seat, faceplates heating up in embarrassment as Jazz fought to control himself.

"But I thought, I mean, they're so…"

Jazz struggled to contain one last giggle before getting a handle on his mirth. "I gotcha, kinda seems that way, don't it? Naw, they're not together, they're twins."

As if he'd heard the word, Sunstreaker's optics shot up and locked onto Hot Rod's shocked gaze. He fixed the newcomer with a withering stare, and Hot Rod dropped his optics back to his cube.

--

Over the next few weeks, Hot Rod watched the twins from afar, though cautious to keep himself from being seen again. Sideswipe had tried to strike up a casual conversation with him, and he'd babbled uselessly about being late for patrol and tripped over his own feet rushing away. Neither twin approached him after that, and he wasn't sure if he should be disappointed or grateful. They continued to dazzle him with their tall, elegant frames and their strange, graceful demeanor. He'd been told by more than one mech that they were the best to have beside you in a fight, and he found himself hoping the decepticons would attack so he could witness it firsthand. He was finally rewarded a few weeks later when Mirage came back to the Ark with news of Megatron's latest super-weapon.

He followed the rush of mechs through the desert, driving in silence between Trailbreaker and Cliffjumper. They'd barely been driving for twenty minutes when Prime gave the order to attack, and he threw himself into the fight.

He held his own for a while, grappling with a few casseticons before catching a missile with his knee and collapsing near the edge of the brawl. He shuffled backwards as best he could, managing the find cover behind a boulder and watch the fight while he waited for the comms to come online.

From behind his cover, Hot Rod managed to find the twins in the center of the fight, spinning and wheeling in a strange, graceful dance. They were fighting a pair constructicons, and were rapidly gaining the upper hand. They dodged every hit easily and struck back with frightening accuracy. Their hands dripped with their enemies' energon, staining them a shimmering blue.

Sunstreaker spun and ducked down, and suddenly he was behind Long Haul, attacking him fiercely form behind while the poor decepticon struggled to orient himself. For one short second, Hot Rod caught sight of his optics, and he instinctively recoiled back a bit. They glowed a pale, icy lilac and even from a distance, Hot Rod could see that they were as hard as any decepticon's.

A sudden shock of pain and surprise interrupted his musings, and Hot Rod found himself sprawled on the hot ground, dazedly staring up at the sky. He had barely registered this when he caught sight of a fast approaching missile, whizzing towards him at an alarming speed. A quick movement from his peripheral vision, and something huge was slamming into him with enough force to knock him out.

When Hot Rod regained consciousness, he was still on the battlefield, and, apart from his leg wound, was relatively undamaged. He sat up shakily and was surprised to see Sunstreaker beside him, motionless and sporting a gruesome chest wound larger than his head. Sideswipe was beside him, frantically trying to staunch the energon flow and muttering nonsense in some strange language that Hot Rod had never heard. His addled circuits managed to put two and two together, and he came to a startling conclusion.

_He took the missile for me._

Hot Rod sat in a stunned silence as Ratchet came to sliding stop beside him and knelt next the wounded warrior, pushing Sideswipe away and plunging his hands into Sunstreaker's innards. The red twin shuffled out of the medic's way and sat to pull his brother's head into his lap, still muttering the strange words.

Once Sunstreaker was stabilized and sent back to the Ark with Ratchet aboard Skyfire, Hot Rod found himself being directed into Prime's trailer were he sat in a daze on the way home. He and Sideswipe were the only mechs hitching the free ride, though Hot Rod could see no major injuries on the red mech. He simply stared blankly at the gray trailer wall, optics wide and breathing softly the entire time. Hot Rod didn't say anything, choosing to watch his own feet instead.

--

Three days later, Sunstreaker was resting in his room per Ratchet's strict orders. Hot Rod stood outside the door, staring at it and anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot, his fingers drumming on the side of his leg.

"Are you gonna come in or not?"

Startled out of his thoughts by Sunstreaker's voice, Hot Rod leapt three feet in the air before calming his racing fuel pump.

"Uh…can I come in?"

"Sure."

Taking a deep breath, Hot Rod palmed the door control pad and stepped into the dimly lit room. Sunstreaker was on the bottom bunk, resting on top of his blankets, a datapad laying forgotten at his side. He regarded Hot Rod with cool indifference. A long strip of black flexi-seal was wrapped around his upper torso, concealing the gash underneath while Sunstreaker's own armor regenerated beneath it.

"So, um, how long 'till your back on duty?"

The yellow twin offered a half-shrug. "Dunno. Probably sometime next week."

Hot Rod nodded and scratched at his forearm. His optics dropped to the floor, which he studied carefully as if it were etched with a great masterpiece. "So, um, I wanted to tha-"

"I don't want your thanks."

Hot Rod sputtered and blinked, looking back up at the yellow warrior with wide optics and a confused expression. "But you…" The young mech gestured vaguely towards Sunstreaker's injured chest, still staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"I didn't _do _anything." Sunstreaker's cold expression was enough to keep Hot Rod frozen for a good minute while he continued to blink.

"You saved me."

Sunstreaker snorted and rolled his optics. "I didn't save you. I just kept another Autobot from being smeared from here to Cybertron. There's a diffrence."

Hot Rod blinked, his expression now one of shocked disbelief. "You saved my life, you have to let me thank you!"

"No. I don't."

"But-"

"Look, do people thank you for having a pit ugly paintjob?"

Hot Rod's jaw dropped and he began to stutter out an answer when Sunstreaker cut him off.

"No, they don't. So don't thank me for doing my damn job."

And that was the end of that. Sunstreaker shooed Hot Rod from his room, refusing to hear another word from him and keeping his distance until Hot Rod was sent back up Cybertron the next week. It was months later, during a particularly boring patrol that Hot Rod came to a realization.

_He didn't know my name. He took a damn missile for me, and he didn't even know my name._

_Word Count: 1509_

_Author's Notes: Woot! Finally something of a decent length! Like it? Hate it? Please, drop me a review and tell me what you think!_


	5. 028 Children

_Author's Notes: No, I'm not dead! I'm so sorry for the long delay, my muse was tucked away somewhere under my bed, but she's just come out of hiding! No slash in this chapter, though warnings for Ratchet's potty mouth._

_--_

_Prompt: 028. Children_

"SON OF A SCRAGGING GLITCH!"

The occupants of the rec room winced as a whole, cringing into their seats in unison and turning warily towards the door. As expected, it burst open a moment later, nearly sent flying off of its hinges by the force of Ratchet's fury. Stalking into the rec room like an enraged tiger, his optics narrowed and swept across the room, sending every mech they passed over deeper into his chair.

"Those slagging little glitch-mice are going to wish they'd never been sparked when I get my hands on them. I'm going to shove a rusty arc welder up their exhaust pipes and then flush it out with wiper fluid!"

A small scrape, barely audible, brought Ratchet's optics towards the far corner of the room where Sideswipe had frozen mid movement, crouched awkwardly over his chair and immobilized halfway between a sitting position and a standing one. Beside him, Sunstreaker was sitting stock still, optics darting between his brother and the apocalyptic medic.

"YOU!"

Both cringed backwards, shoulders hunching forwards as they shrunk back towards their seats.

"THE BOTH OF YOU! I am going to tear those shiny little chestplates right off your chassis with a pair of tweezers!"

Ratchet began to walk towards them, and, in a moment of panic, the twins bolted out of their seats and towards two different exits, stumbling frantically over chair legs and foot-stools. Half-way between them, and knowing that he couldn't possible catch either twin, Ratchet opted for a better solution.

_Woosh-THWACK! Woosh_-_THWACK!_

Separated only by half a second, two wrenches were sent flying across the room in opposite directions, striking the twins in the back of the helms and sending them crashing towards the ground. Both stayed down, moaning and clutching their heads while Ratchet swept towards the closest one. Grabbing Sunstreaker by an audio-vent, he hauled the yellow twin to his feet before dragging him towards his brother, who was pulled up in a similar fashion.

"You two had better have one hell of an excuse for lying to me, or Wheeljack is going to have some pretty nice Lamborghinis to strip for parts."

Twisting awkwardly in Ratchet's grip, Sideswipe looked up at the medic from under his helm. "Ratch, we've got reasons, could you just-"

"No, I couldn't just let go of your damn audio. I'm taking you down to Prime! Did it ever occur to you that maybe, I would have like to know that two of patients are about half the age that they told me they were?"

If anyone in the rec room hadn't been staring at the twins already, they were now. Both looked about ready to sink into the floor and were staring at it as if it could possibly swallow them up if they wished hard enough.

"Twenty-nine vorns. TWENTY-NINE! You're not even old enough to drink yet, let alone be in the Primus-damned military for a vorn and a half! Primus almighty, I should've had a legal guardian signing all your damned release papers!"

"It'll be 30 next month."

"I DON'T CARE! YOU SHOULD'VE TOLD ME!"

Cringing as the grip on his vent tightened, Sunstreaker shuffled a half-step away from the medic. "Our papers say that we're old enough."

"Your papers! I don't give a flippin' damn what your papers say, what matters is that you," he tugged on Sideswipe's audio-horn, "and you," he pulled Sunstreaker back towards him, "are coming with me to Prime's office!"

Like a pair of sullen children, the twins allowed themselves to be half-dragged out of the room, bent over double and tripping over their feet because of it. When the door finally shut behind them, a cacophony of whispers erupted as mechs leaned forwards in their seats conspiratorially.

"_Twenty-nine?"_

"_I don't believe it."_

"_They're younger than Bluestreak!"_

"_Bluestreak's really not that young anyways, twenty-nine vorns is just insane!"_

"_They're children."_

At the far end of the room, not far from where the twins had been sitting earlier, Mirage sipped his energon nonchalantly while Hound murmured incredulously in his ear.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew."

"But how? _Nobody knew_! The command element didn't know!"

"It was a huge deal back on Cybertron, Sunstreaker was the youngest mech to ever have his art displayed in the Tetrahex galleries."

"What? The Tetrahex Galleries? Sunstreaker? You've got to tell me about this later, that's crazy!"

"Not at all. It's actually quite impressive."

"Well _yeah, _but it's _Sunstreaker._"

"I don't see your point."

"It's just, well, agh! I don't know, I just never thought…whatever. I still can't believe they're not even 30 vorns yet."

Mirage leaned back in his chair, tilting it back onto two legs and staring absently at the ceiling.

"I wonder what Prime will say."

"Heck, I wanna know what _Ratchet_'s gonna say. Prime'll yell, sure, but Ratchet can skin you alive."

A soft chuckle escape Mirage's lips, and the spy tipped his chair back onto all fours. "Ratchet won't hurt them. He likes them to much to do any kind of permanent damage."

"I still don't envy them." Hound grimaced down into his energon, swishing it back and forth inside the cube. In one quick motion, he sent the rest of it down his throat in one swallow before standing up.

"I'll see you later Mirage, I've got patrol."

The spy nodded in lieu of an answer, turning his attention to his own energon before calling the tracker back.

"Hound?"

"Yeah?"

"You did record it, didn't you?"

A grin pulled up the corners of Hound's mouth. "Every last second."


	6. 016 Purple

_A/N: Thanks and cookies go out to Elita One, Lady Taurucis, xStarSaber, flamingmarsh, mdnytryder, liz, Sotwt and everyone else for the reviews. Thanks-you, thank-you, thank-you!_

_Prompt: 016. Purple_

Stuck behind the lines for the most part, it isn't often that I see the twins really let loose. Sure, I've witnessed a casual fist-fight now and again, but never a one-on-one between the two of them, where nothing was against the rules.

And frankly, I'm pretty sure that I don't want to see it again.

Because seeing the two of them like that is downright frightening. It's chilling to see two young faces twisted and hardened into unbreakable masks, looking so much older than they really are.

Sideswipe lands a kick on his brother's midsection, and Sunstreaker goes flying across the ring, coliding with the ropes and crumpling onto the ground with a gasp. I had barely refreshed my optics when Sunstreaker was back on his feet and pressing Sideswipe back towards the center of the ring, heedless of the energon dribling down his stomach.

Their optics are a shade of blue I've never seen before. A pale sort of icy violet that makes me want to get as far away from them as possible. But at the same time, I'm transfixed. It's almost like watching a strange kind of dance, interrupted only by grunts of pain and effort, and the hissing of air rushing through their vents. Feline in every movement, their tempo speeds up and soon their limbs are almost impossible to follow. They become a blur of red and yellow, dancing across the ring with a grace and speed that goes completely unhindered by their tall frames.

I blink once, and suddenly they're motionless, and I notice that they are both holding quarterstaffs now. I hadn't even noticed that they'd taken them out of subspace. Both weapons are locked against each other, motionless as neither twin gives way to any kind of pressure.

But Sideswipe's arms are stronger, they have to be to support his piledrivers, and Sunstreaker is still weakened from the battle two days ago. The yellow twin's arms buckle and the brothers are dancing again, staffs clashing against each other in loud metallic clangs.

Sunstreaker manages to stab the end of his staff into his brother's shoulder joint, eliciting a gasp from the red twin, who stumbles back a few steps. As his twin approaches, Sideswipe re-arranges his grip and feigns with his staff, kicking as soon as his brother moves to block. A choked cry escapes the yellow brother as the knee I repaired a couple days ago is forced out of its socket, and Sunstreaker stumbles to regain his balance. He has barely recovered before Sideswipe is on him again, using his staff to press his brother towards the ropes. I can see Sunstreaker rapidly loosing the upper hand, barely managing to block his twin's blows completely unable to attempt his own. His breath is coming in short gasps, and his injured knee isn't able to support his weight properly. It doesn't take long for Sideswipe to land a hard blow on Sunstreaker's chest, sending him crashing onto the ground with a cry.

Staff forgotten on the ground, Sideswipe is kneeling next to his brother, holding him up while the yellow twin catches his breath. Breathing raggedly, Sunstreaker leans against his twin and shifts so that his bad leg is stretched out in front of him, energon dribbling out of it and onto the mats. Their optics have returned to their normal, cerulean blue, though Sunstreaker's are pale with surpressed pain.

Without thinking, I slip through the ropes of the ring and pull away some of the plating on Sunstreaker's knee so that I can find the leaking line. Neither twin moves as I carefully patch it up and replace the plating. Together, Sideswipe and I help Sunstreaker to his feet, mindful of his injuries. Once the crowd is sure that both twins are alright, it errupts into applause and both twins grin widely. With Sideswipe supporting his limping twin, they follow me towards the med bay where I plan of giving them a yelling at their going to remember for weeks.

Fighting so soon after repairs. Slag-heads.


	7. 056 Breakfast

_Author's Notes: Thanks to Sotwt, Red Orange Tale, Jessie07, feelingbrave, Elita One, Kitra13, chaoticsam and xStarSaber for the review, you guys rock! Cookies go to PJinx (you know who you are) for her continuing awesomness! _

_Prompt: 056. Breakfast_

"No."

"Come on, Ratchet! Let us in!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because you were in here an hour ago! AN HOUR! It took me twenty slagging minutes to get your damn knee joint back into place, and I don't want to see it anytime soon!"

"Hey! I'm perfectly fine, it's Sideswipe who needs help."

"Right. And what has the red-retard done now?"

A short pause ensued while Sunstreaker shuffled his feet a little and winced in preparation for the forthcoming tirade. "He drank human vehicle fuel."

"…What?"

"Human vehicle fluid. Gas. That stuff the humans put in their cars. He drank some."

From the other side of the door, Ratchet could hear the sound of a muffled giggle, a hiccup, and Sunstreaker swearing at his brother to stop slagging flicking his audio vents.

"How much?"

"Um," Sunstreaker grabbed his brother's wrist to keep him from running off and tugged him back towards the med bay. "I don't really know. He puked some up on the way here, and he's still pretty loopy, so I'd say a lot."

Sighing, Ratchet unlocked the med bay door and opened it, ushering the twins inside. Sideswipe staggered drunkenly after his twin, giggling madly and tugging at the fins on either side of Sunstreaker's head. The yellow twin ducked half-heartedly, wincing whenever his brother managed to grab onto the sensitive attachments.

"Alright Sideswipe, up onto the bed."

Hiccupping and stumbling into his twin, Sideswipe shook his head and backed away from the medic.

"Sideswipe, I am not in the mood."

With a snicker, the red twin ducked behind Sunstreaker who grimaced and sidestepped away from him.

"Sides, come on, up on the bed for Ratchet."

"Nu-uh."

Cursing, Sunstreaker spoke quickly in a language that Ratchet had never heard, pointing towards the table and then to the medic. Sideswipe apparently disagreed with whatever his twin had said, because he backed away and twisted his face into a grimace.

Optics stormy and posture threatening, Sunstreaker stepped towards his twin menacingly while growling something incomprehensible. That seemed to get through to Sideswipe, who let himself be helped up onto the table where he slouched miserably.

Now that his patient was somewhat cooperative, Ratchet hooked up a scanner to the red twin, swearing violently at the medical jargon that appeared on the screen.

"Thank-you Sunstreaker, for letting your brother do this to himself."

"What? How is this my fault?"

"Well, Sideswipe scores a negative result on the common-sense-o-meter, making it your job to keep him out of this kind of trouble!"

"MY JOB?"

"Yes! Why the hell did you let him drink gas?"

"How was I supposed to know it'd make 'im sick?"

"Hello? Anybody home?" Ratchet rapped the yellow twin's head with his knuckles, making Sunstreaker wince and flinch away from him "BECAUSE IT'S NOT ENERGON!"

"Well, he swallowed paint thinners last week, and he seemed okay after that."

"Excuse me? Paint thinners?"

Sunstreaker's optics paled almost immediately, and he backed away from Ratchet with a sheepish grin. "Uh, pretend I didn't say anything. No harm, no foul right? It was only a little bit, and he was fine, right?"

"Out."

"But, what about-"

"OUT!"

"Ratchet, I don't wan-"

"GET OUT OF MY SLAGGING MED BAY!"

Scowling at the medic, Sunstreaker huffed and stormed out of the med bay, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sideswipe, who was sitting up on his berth and staring at the medic with wide optics, looked towards the door his brother had just disappeared through. Mouth down-turned, he looked towards the medic with a kicked-puppy look to rival Fireflight's.

"Don't give me that look."

"Sunstreaker?"

"Is staying outside if he values his life."

"Oh."

A few hours later, once the contaminated energon had been flushed out of his system and replaced with a transfusion from his brother, Sideswipe was contentedly mashing the zombies on his Gameboy. Completely unaffected by the myriad of monitors and energon cleansers attached to him, he laughed manically at his game.

"You are insane. I should have Ratchet check your head."

Resting beside his brother on a berth of his own, Sunstreaker was being kept under observation until he recovered from donating a substantial amount of his energon to his brother.

Grinning, Sideswipe tilted his head towards the CMO, who had just come out of his office.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear!"

Glaring at the red twin and stalking towards him, Ratchet looked about as pleased as Jazz in a three-hour long staff meeting. Snatching the gaming device out of Sideswipe's hands, he ignored the twins' cries of protest and proceeded to smack him in the head with the toy before sub-spacing it.

"No games in the med bay." He grumbled, adjusting all the cables Sideswipe had moved during his over-enthusiastic gaming. "I don't even know where you get those anyways."

Sideswipe snickered and fiddled with the line feeding energon into his systems. "Wheeljack pays his labrats well."

"Wheelja-, gah. I should've known." Ratchet slapped Sideswipe's hand away and shoved the line back into place. "He needs to stop letting you two test his weaponry."

"But then who would? No one else is dumb enough to do it, and you love patching us up when it explodes."

Ratchet snorted. "So Sideswipe." The medic's tone jumped from joking to threatening, and he bore down onto the warrior menacingly. "Were you ever planning on telling me about the paint thinner incident?"

The red twins' smile faded, and he looked up at Ratchet with wide, nervous optics.

"Well, um, I would've if anything bad had happened. I didn't get _that_ sick, and well-"

"Excuse me? Exactly how sick did you get?"

Offering the medic a watery half-grin in an attempt at placation, he opened his mouth to say something before the medic pinned him with a glare. Sideswipe's teeth clicked as his jaw snapped shut, and he visibly reconsidered the confusing web of half-truths and prevarications he'd been about to spin.

"Well, I threw up a bit and I had a fever for a couple of days, but I was fine after that!"

"Fine."

"Yeah!"

"Like you were fine after you dented your shoulder plating last week, or fine like after you fell off of the west gun turret trying to tie a pirate flag onto it?"

Shaking his head emphatically, Sideswipe gave Ratchet his best innocent-wide-opticked expression. "Oh, not nearly as bad as the time with the gun turret!"

"Right. And how bad would you classify the incident with Air Raid and the tree?"

"Umm…I don't think the paint-thinner thing was as bad as that. See, with the paint-thinners I was just a little sick, but I was sore for weeks after that thing with Air Raid. One of the tree branches went straight through my shoulder joint, see, and by the time Slingshot found us and called you, it was all coated with energon and coolant and stuff. Then there was the bit of 'Raid's aileron that got jammed under my knee plating, it had some of his fluid on it, plus some of mine and-"

Sunstreaker moaned from under his blankets, which he'd pulled over his head about halfway through his brother's monologue. "For Primus' sake Sides, STOP!"

Both the medic and Sideswipe looked at the mound of quilts in confusion until Sunstreaker's tank churned audibly, and the yellow twin curled himself deeper into the blankets.

Stifling his laughter, Ratchet made his way over to Sunstreaker and patted what he assumed to be the mech's head. "I take it the nausea hasn't passed yet?"

"No." Came the muffled reply. "And it's all Sideswipe's fault."

"Hey! You didn't have to volunteer to donate your energon!"

Pulling the blankets away from his face, Sunstreaker glared at his brother. "Yes I did! I'm the only one on base with your energon type!"

"Aw, quit whining. I gave you just as much when your leg got blasted off and I was fine."

"You were not! You puked all over First Aid's feet!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

"I DID NOT!"

"YOU DID TOO!"

"SHUT UP! It's 11 o'clock for Primus' sake, 11 o'clock! And you've been here twice today already!"

Neither twin spoke for a moment before Sideswipe let out a low whistle.

"New record!"


	8. 026 Teammates

**Author's Notes: Thanks to Dampsefi, Sotwt, Shini-666, Jessie07, Elita One, Lady Taurucis and xStarSaber for the reviews, along with everyone else who dropped a review lately. Also, Pjinx for being an awesome sounding board and Okami-chan for prodding me into posting something for this.**

**More Notes: Happy Holidays!!! And, on another note, I'm turning fifteen in a couple days! Woot!**

--

_Prompt: 026. Teammates_

--

"Good morning!" Jazz sauntered smoothly into the command center, all grins and suave charisma. Prowl looked up reluctantly from his conversation with Springer, recently arrived from Cybertron and who had been receiving an explanation on the workings of the command console.

Prowl, as usual, was unimpressed by the interruption. He sent a withering look in Jazz's direction before addressing him. "Is it important Jazz, I was a little bit busy."

Looking down at the datapad he was holding and feigning thought for a moment, Jazz managed to wring a muffled chuckle out of Springer, who managed to quite quickly cover it up.

"Ayup, I'd say it's pretty important. It involves a Lamborghini."

Prowl's already peeved expression darkened into a veritable storm-cloud of definite not-happiness. "What has Sideswipe done now?"

Springer, who'd been sitting back and enjoying the exchange with some amount of amusement, finally decided to put in his two cents. "I thought Red Alert and Sunstreaker were the only two Lamborghinis on base."

"Sideswipe is the third, and Sunstreaker's twin brother." Prowl obviously wasn't thrilled about this, and Springer got the distinct feeling that the twins (and who would have thought he'd actually get to meet a pair), were not mechs that Prowl particularly liked.

Jazz, still grinning, continued. "It's actually not Sideswipe, he's still in medical after his run-in with the seekers, which, by the way, Ratchet isn't too pleased about. Seems Sideswipe keeps trying to get out of bed and pulling out all of his wires and what not, and you know how that get Ratchet's panties in a twist. Of course, it ain't helping that Siders isn't in any condition to be getting out of bed yet, according to Ratchet anyways. Not that I'd argue with the doc-man anyways, last I saw Sideswipe was getting energon through a tube and missing half armor."

Jazz probably would have continued rambling happily about nothing at all just for the sake of it had Prowl not interrupted.

"Jazz. I'm busy."

The saboteur, still looking as pleased as a cat with all the cream, tossed a very confused Springer an amused look. "Right. Well, Sunstreaker's about ready to kill someone."

While Springer was attempting to puzzle out what the heck 'panties' were and exactly why Ratchet's were twisted, Prowl was fixing Jazz with a glare that would level Optimus Prime. "Some context would be nice. Sunstreaker is almost always prepared to kill someone."

This just managed to alarm Springer all the more, and he looked up quite sharply. "Isn't that…kind of disturbing?"

Prowl turned his still unimpressed expression towards Springer. "It's Sunstreaker."

That seemed to be all the explanation Springer was going to get, because Jazz was continuing with his story.

"Well, seems someone thought it would be funny to lock ol' Sunny in a supply closet."

"I assume that went over well."

It took Springer a moment to realize Prowl was being sarcastic.

"Yeah, well, he didn't take too kindly to it. We managed to get him out and Ironhide brought him down to the brig to cool his jets, but man is he fit to be tied."

Prowl was now impatiently rapping his fingers on the edge of the console. "Jazz, I still fail to see why you need me for this, it appears the situation is under control, and all that remains is to find the culprit."

At that, Jazz's grin wilted a few degrees. "Well…" He looked quickly towards Springer before continuing. "We think it was one of the Wreckers."

Optics narrowing, Springer leaned towards Jazz and sent him a menacing look. "And what makes you think one of my guys had anything to do with it?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Jazz looked back towards Prowl. "Well, the whole Ark crew pretty much knows who tetchy the twins are about small spaces, seeing how Sideswipe totally flipped that time the elevator broke down, and Sunstreaker got in a fight with uh, that one with the drills…?" Jazz looked questioningly towards Springer, who was looking more and more menacing by the second.

"Twintwist."

"Yeah, Twintwist. He and Sunny got in a fight a few days ago after he dissed Sideswipe, and, well, you know how Sunstreaker gets about things like that."

Prowl was now leaning back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at Jazz. "Tell Twintwist to be in my office at the start of next shift change, I'll talk to him."

Springer leapt out of his chair, optics stormy and fists clenched. "That's it? You don't look any deeper than that? How can you know it's him, when all you've got for proof is one slagging fight? From what I've seen, that Sunstreaker gets in fights all the time, how do you know it's one of my guys who took revenge?"

Prowl turned towards Springer with a fierce expression on his faceplates, optics narrowed and lips tight. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

"Yeah! I am! You can't condemn 'Twist with just that for proof!"

Rising out of his chair to look Springer in the optic, Prowl's doorwings were drawn back and held stiffly. "Yes I can. My troops would know better than to insult Sideswipe when Sunstreaker was present, and definitely wouldn't lock a claustrophobic mech in a closet while his twin brother was still in the med bay. Before you make accusations about how I discipline the mechs on my base, you should get to know the other crew members a tad bit better."

Springer took a step back, the back of his legs bumping into his seat and pushing it back against the console.

"If you don't mind, we will continue this later. I have other work I need to be doing."

With that, Prowl swept out of the room, leaving Jazz to stand with a stunned Springer.

Scratching the back of his head, Jazz offered Springer a small grin. "For what it's worth, I don't blame 'Twist too much. You guys haven't been here long enough to know the guys real well."

Springer flopped down into his chair, forehead creased. "It shouldn't make that much of a difference. We've never had this kind of problem with any other units. I saw that fight between 'Twist and your Sunstreaker, and that guy totally over-reacted."

At that, Jazz's optics narrowed. "I wouldn't go around saying that to just anyone. Sure, Sunstreaker's volatile, anyone'll say that, but the twins carry a lot of baggage for mechs that young, and ya've gotta know how to treat 'em."

And it was true. Even the most dense of mechs knew not to piss off either twin when his brother was in the med bay. It was just asking for a death wish, and any Ark member would tell you that.

Springer, still obviously unhappy, watched Jazz make towards the exit. Stopping in the door, the saboteur turned to face him again. "Look, just get to 'em a little before you make any judgment. You gotta remember that first and foremost, they're twins, then Autobots. No one can possibly understand what that really means, and you'd do best to understand that."


	9. 065 Passing

AN: I'm sorry about the long wait! Honestly, I am! And, quick note, seeing as I keep forgetting to say this, "Noster Nostri" means "Our Heats Beat as One" in latin, or so Wikipedia tells me. EDIT: Extra huge thanks-you to "thinking at two am" for correcting me, turns out that Wikipedia isn't as reliable as I thought. You rock, thank you so much for pointing that out. Title has been changed accordingly.

More AN: Some of my stories are going to deleted or moved to another account. More info will be posted on my user page somewhere in the future. EDIT: This story is not going to move, it will stay on this account.

Last AN, I swear!: Thanks to *drumroll* Shini-66, shimmershadow30, Sotwt, Thing With No Talent, Jessie07, Trickster91, cmdrtekk, Dampsefi, flamingmarsh, mdnytryder, Exie and The Toe of Sauron for the reviews!! You guys rock my robo-socks off! Cookies for Pjinx, for her sounding-board services and general awesomness.

* * *

Prompt: 065. Passing

It was an accident that he found them really, but once he did, Mirage found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the photographs. All of them were still frames from a party on Cybertron, shortly after the war had started, and when he still clung to his life as a noblemech of the Towers. One of his friends had been the host, of the art gala and its after-party, and Mirage had almost refused the invitation. Promise of a new-found talent had compelled him to go, and he hadn't been disappointed.

And while his friend had been right, and Mirage had found the art to be exceptional, the former noblemech was looking for shots of its creator. There were very few posed shots of him, most were candid and taken when he had been unaware of the camera. In one he was leaning over his own work critically, in another he was sipping a cube of high-grade and chatting with a red mech. The same red mech that had stayed by his side for the entire evening, as if tethered to him by an invisible chain.

Mirage remembered the night quite clearly, it had been a few weeks before the towers were bombed. He had attended the party unaccompanied, and his interest had quite immediately been caught by the introverted golden artist. The mech had stood by his paintings for the gala, partially hidden by one of the canvases. Soft-spoken, shy, and painfully modest, he had almost given one of his paintings to Mirage for free. Of course, his brother had stepped in then, insisting that Sunstreaker had been mistaken and that of course, they were willing to accept a more reasonable price. The golden mech had scowled a little but retreated obediently, allowing his brother to haggle with Mirage.

Still scanning through the photos, Mirage found one of Sunstreaker caught mid-laugh, optics bright and faceplates lit up by the radiant smile he wore. It wasn't a smile that was seen much now.

All of the paintings that hadn't been sold had been sent to the Galleries to be put on display only a few days before the Decepticons bombed them. The art community had been devastated, millennia of work demolished in a single night. The only collection Sunstreaker had ever put on display was decimated, and, as far as Mirage knew, only 3 of the 12 pieces had survived. One was in the noblemech's possession, and the other two had been bought by other guests of the gala. Shortly after, the Towers fell, and Mirage had joined the Autobots. It was vorns later when he saw Sunstreaker again, tearing a sparring drone to shreds. The gently, soft-spoken artist was gone, replaced by a cold and merciless warrior.

Mirage never mentioned the art gallery, and wasn't even sure if Sunstreaker remembered him. Sideswipe, however, had. He had sat quietly next to Mirage one night and remained silent for a while before speaking quietly.

"Did you keep it?" He had asked, and Mirage's thoughts turned towards the painting hanging in his quarters. It was the towers, seen from the point of view of a mech outside of the gates, somewhere within the suburban area surrounding them. Never had Mirage seen a more beautiful replica of his home, and it had been one of the few things he had kept from his old life. Quietly, he had offered Sideswipe a small grin and nodded once, which seemed to satisfy the red twin. He had nodded in return before leaving the room, much more relaxed than when he had come in.

That was the last time either twin mentioned their previous encounter, and the life they had once led. As far as Mirage knew, no one else was aware of Sunstreaker's artistic endeavors in the past, and if they did, they kept their mouth shut. It was a shame almost, for the Autobots to see only the hardened, aggressive warrior instead of the quiet, modest artist that Mirage had once met. What had happened, that had driven Sunstreaker to erect a wall of ice around his spark?

The slight smugness Mirage felt at being one of the few who remembered the Sunstreaker of old faded a little, when he realized how little he really knew about the golden warrior. He had spoken to him for such a short time, seen just one side of him, before meeting him again and finding him changed. He knew nothing of what had happened before the gala, or what had transpired after, but, it was somewhat of a comfort to know that the twin, for a while at least, had been happy. And successful. Mirage had payed a pretty penny for the painting, and with no little reason. Sideswipe probably could have driven the price higher, had he wanted too, and Mirage would have accepted.

"Mirage?"

The noblemech jumped, hands scrambling to shuffle the pictures into a stack. Calmly, an ebony hand reached down to pluck one from Mirage's faltering grip, and Mirage twisted in his seat to see Sunstreaker calmly tearing the photograph in half.

"Wha-, what are you doing?" As Mirage stuttered, the two halves of the photo fluttered down onto the table, crushed and broken. Sunstreaker reached down and grabbed the stack of photos, and Mirage watched in horror as he carefully flipped through them, dropping some onto the table and keeping the rest tucked between his elbow and his chest. As more and more pictures floated down to rest on the table, the spy came to the slow realization that Sunstreaker was removing every photo of himself and his brother. When he was through, he took the pictures he'd set aside and methodically tore them apart, letting the pieces drop in front of Mirage.

Watching Sunstreaker destroy the photographs, Mirage wondered why he wasn't doing something, wasn't jumping up to stop him. It dawned on him slowly, that he didn't really want to stop Sunstreaker. He knew, that even if he tried, there was nothing he could do. The warrior was at least a head and a half taller than him, and strong enough to rip his head from his shoulders. And, though Sunstreaker was rash, he didn't do things without reason.

As the last mutilated photograph tumbled awkwardly onto the table, Mirage looked up to meet Sunstreaker's cerulean optics. The warrior looked back at him, faceplates blank and optics hard. He seemed so much taller from Mirage's vantage point, sitting down so that he had to crane his neck to see the twin's face.

"Why?"

Sunstreaker stared back at him, unmoving. Slowly, his expression changed, hardening into anger, and Mirage saw his fists clench at his sides. For a moment, with the warrior looming over him, optics hard and unmerciful, the spy was afraid that that Sunstreaker would attack him. It looked as though he would, too, before the angry expression faded, replaced by one so broken and full of hurt that Mirage couldn't imagine the mech who wore it capable of denting a dead cassette. His shoulders sagged, and, optics downcast, Sunstreaker said something that Mirage doubted he would ever forget.

"Because the past is gone, and I can't have it back."

* * *

Meeeeh. Ending is crap. I'm sorry. And hey! Look at the shiny page-breaks!


	10. 035 Sixth Sense

_A/N: Thanks go out to pl2363, Sotwt, Jessie07, cmdrtekk, thinking at two am, Okami-chan, DitzyMusicLover, flamigmarsh, Elita One, Shroxx, The Toe of Sauron, shimmershadow30 and Bluebird Soaring. You guys are awesome! You have no idea how much I appreciate the reviews! I see all the +favs and alerts too, thanks so much for those! _

_So, I have decided to skip all the hazards of moving accounts entirely and just tidy up some of my older stuff, and have found a way around the problem that originally spawned the idea! A username change will be forthcoming. _

_Lastly, there is one major inconsistency throughout the prompts that hasn't been spotted by any readers yet. grin Major cookies, and a possible fic-request go to anyone who can find it. It's not plot related, if that helps._

_Prompt: 035. Sixth Sense_

Bluestreak set down his energon cube, looking up from his cards to see Sideswipe leaning against the door frame, optics dim as he offered the gunner a small half-smile.

"Sides! Ratchet finally let you out!" Leaping up from his seat, and unaware that he'd left his cards wide open on the table, Bluestreak trotted up to the warrior's side with his doorwings held high and a face-splitting grin on his face.

"Hey Bluestreak." Sideswipe straightened up a bit, wincing when the movement jarred the fresh repairs on his leg. The gunner started to talk about the end of the battle that the warrior had missed, and Sideswipe slowly sunk back against the door frame.

"Devastator went down pretty quick after that, boy, was your brother ever peeved at him. Prime carried you back in his trailer, I don't think anyone else was hurt as bad as you were. Air Raid had a wing ripped off, but according to First Aid, it really wasn't too bad because, even though Raider was pretty wrung out about it, all First Aid had to do was stick it back on and reconnect the inside bits."

"Blue-"

"-wow, I thought Ratchet would have to rebuild your whole leg! You should have seen his face when Sunny carried you in, if you hadn't been so badly hurt he probably would have thrown a wrench at you or something, and-"

"Blue? I'd love to hear about it, but I'm pretty damn tired right now."

Startled, the gunner seemed to see the weld marks criss-crossed over Sideswipe's frame for the first time.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Do you want me to help you to your quarters, because I can-"

Sideswipe sighed and shifted restlessly against the door frame. "Nah. Don't think I'll be able to walk all the way back to the residence deck. I'm just gonna crash on the couch, but I sure wouldn't mind a hand."

Optics brightening, Bluestreak pulled Sideswipe's arm over his own shoulders and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist. The red warrior leaned against him gratefully, and the pair made their way awkwardly over to the chesterfield. Bumblebee jumped out of the way, dragging a reluctant Powerglide with him, and Sideswipe lowered himself gingerly into the cushions.

"Thanks, Blue."

"Hey, no problem. Do you want me to get you anything? I could get some energon, or some high grade if that's what you're in the mood for. Well, maybe not high grade, I don't think Ratchet would be happy about you drinking that so soon after repairs."

Letting a weary sigh blow past his lips, Sideswipe shifted awkwardly against the seat back, letting his optic shutters slide down.

"No thanks. I'm to nauseous to hold anything down, I think."

"Damn, well, I guess not then. I could get you a blanket or something."

"I'm fine." Sideswipe shifted again, arm pressed against the long weld seam that crossed the soft plating of his midsection. Head spinning, he creased his forehead and let out a sharp gasp of pain.

"-swipe, Sideswipe! Are you okay?"

"Fine, Blue. Just fine."

"Alright, well…" Sideswipe opened his optics to see Bluestreak wavering. "If you're sure, I guess I'll let you rest."

In lieu of an answer, Sideswipe shut his optics and listened as Bluestreak went back to his card game. For a awhile he lay there, just listening to the sound of Jazz laughing and Smokescreen taking bets before the familiar hubbub lulled him into recharge.

---

Most of the crew generally left the twins to recharge in peace when they crashed in the rec room. Of course, right now, Slingshot was not most of the crew. Though the twins, particularly Sideswipe, had taken a sort of liking to the aerialbots, it didn't grant the jets immunity from pranks. A few days prior, Sideswipe had rigged a bucket of purple paint above their door, and Slingshot had been the unlucky mech to walk through. Dripping with paint and glaring at a laughing Air Raid, he had vowed to take his revenge.

The other aerialbots had laughed at him, and, offended, Slingshot had bided his time. Now, his target sprawled across the couch and dead to the world, Slingshot was ready. Quietly rising from his seat between Fireflight and Air Raid, he crept over to the couch, a thick black marker pinched between his fingers. Those who caught sight of him quieted, and watched in anticipation as Slingshot crouched next to Sideswipe and yanked the cap off the marker with his teeth, letting it drop soundlessly against the rug. Poised and silent, he brought the marker up to Sideswipe's red chest plate, hand steady as he decided where exactly to begin.

Before the black tip was four inches from his chassis, Sideswipe's arm snapped out and caught Slingshot's wrist, his optics flashing as he twisted the jet's arm painfully around his back before flinging himself from the couch. He and Slingshot barrel rolled across the ground, and when they finally came to a stop, Slingshot was lying on his front with a knee pressed into his back, both his arms pinned and a gun against his temple.

Everyone in the room froze. The only sound came from Sideswipe, who, despite his fierce expression and unyielding grip on Slingshot, was breathing hard. His intakes whirred and rattled unhealthily, but the warrior didn't seem to notice. Optics hard and unseeing, he kept Slingshot pinned to the ground, and it was only a hard glare from Ironhide that kept the other aerialbots from jumping to their brother's side.

Jazz, who had been happily winning a game of poker, slowly rose out of his seat, staying in a low crouch with his arms out wide. The hydraulics in his legs let out a miniscule whirr as he shifted his weight, and Sideswipe reacted. Pressing his knee further into Slingshot's back, he turned his gun towards Jazz, who stopped and stared into the warrior's unseeing optics. They glowed a shade of arctic blue that bordered white, and held Jazz's gaze without recognizing him.

It was an utterly terrifying thing, to have one's comrade in arms staring at them all without really seeing. Sideswipe looked like a wild animal, unmoving and yet terribly frightening all the same.

And then Sunstreaker walked in from his shift.

The golden warrior froze mid-swagger, and caught his brother's hard gaze in his own. The marker, which had gone flying when Sideswipe had tackled Slingshot, had come to rest not far from the couch. Sunstreaker quickly deduced what had happened, and, slowly, he sunk into a defensive crouch.

"Woah, Sides."

Sideswipe, in return, bared his teeth at his brother.

What Sunstreaker said afterwards was an unintelligible string of gibberish, sounding vaguely Cybertronian but with an odd inflection that made it somehow alien. Sideswipe responded with an equally incomprehensible sentence, and Sunstreaker took an inoffensive step forward.

"Woah, Sides. It's Sunstreaker."

Slingshot, still caught in Sideswipe's grasp, felt the pressure in his back slowly weakening. Motionless, he watched Sunstreaker out of the corner of his optic slowly take another step.

"Shhh, it's okay Sideswipe, it's me."

Wavering, Sideswipe lowered his gun, and his grip on Slingshot's wrists lessened. His optics were slowly returning to their regular shade of caribbean blue. He blinked once, and slid slowly from Slingshot's back.

Jumping out of his crouch, Sunstreaker caught his brother before he fell, tugging him away from Slingshot and laying him out on the ground. The aerialbots crossed the room a moment later, congregating around Slingshot, pulling him up to his feet and jostling him between themselves. Jazz trotted up to join the twins, kneeling next to Sunstreaker and the slowly blinking Sideswipe.

"Wha, Sunny?" Sideswipe shook his head and brought a hand up to rub at his helm. "Ow. My head hurts." He frowned. "My everything hurts."

Sunstreaker snorted and gently fingered the torn weld seam on Sideswipe's stomach that was slowly oozing energon.

A crowd was starting to form around the twins and the aerialbots, creating a cacophony as everyone tried to make himself heard. Ratchet, who someone had thought to ping, shoved his way through, elbowing anyone too stupid to move.

"Alright, lemme through, out of the way."

The medic dropped onto his knees, running a scan on Sideswipe, who squirmed under his hard stare.

"What did I tell you about being stupid?" He swatted Sideswipe on the head. "I told you that you needed _rest_, in your _quarters_."

The red warrior offered him a shrug, wincing as Sunstreaker slid his arms under him to lift him up.

"Ow, OUCH! That spot's tender, ow!" Sideswipe struggled in his brother's grip. "Lemme down, I can walk, you know!"

Ratchet, walking in front of Sunstreaker and shoving curious mechs out of the way, turned back to glare at him. "I'd like to see you try."

---

Sitting in a chair at Sideswipe's bedside, Ratchet was letting himself be transfixed by the rhythmic beeping of the warrior's pump monitor. Every so often the warrior would shift, and the rhythm would speed up, leaving Ratchet to watch him carefully until it settled again.

"You shouldn't need to babysit him."

Startled, the medic jumped, twisting awkwardly to see Prowl standing in the doorway, arms crossed under his bumper as he approached with silent steps.

"If I don't he'll run off and do something stupid."

Frowning, Prowl settled on the berth neighboring Sideswipe's, on the opposite side from Ratchet. Between them, the warrior twitched in his recharge, letting out a small, pained moan and creasing his brow.

Prowl shifted and reached out an arm, easily snatching the chart from the foot of Sideswipe's bed to read it.

"Why do you have him on so much pain medication?"

"He's in pain. He needs recharge. The meds knock him out."

Prowl returned the chart to its slot, silent as he watched the slow rise and fall of Sideswipe's chest as he breathed. His optics drifted down the warrior's frame, pausing on the fresh weld marks and the bands of flexi seal stretched over his chassis. He brought his gaze back up to the warrior's face, still creased in recharge.

"He's not as old as his records say, is he?"

Ratchet said nothing, only uncrossed his legs to re-cross them in the other direction.

"Is he?"

Again, Ratchet remained silent.

"He and his brother are two of the warrior-class mechs the Decepticons commissioned a couple vorns before we left Cybertron. Aren't they?"

"They were all destroyed. Purposely. The Autobot council deemed them unstable."

"There were two unaccounted for. That's why he attacked Slingshot. He has the illegal war-oriented core programming designed by that Deception corporation."

Ratchet shrugged. "How should I know, I'm just a lowly medic."

"Right." The tactician looked back at Ratchet, an incredulous expression on his face. With a longsuffering sigh, he let his doorwings sag.

"I hate doctor-patient confidentiality."

"I know."

With a groan, Sideswipe shifted in his recharge again. His optic shutters fluttered before opening, and Sideswipe let out another, louder groan.

Ratchet stood, pushing Sideswipe down as the warrior tried to sit up on his elbows. "Shhh, go back to recharge Sideswipe. It's okay."

"Owww…wha? Prowl?"

Blinking owlishly, the warrior shrugged off Ratchet's hand and pushed himself up. "Where's Sunny?"

"He had to go back to patrol."

"I feel like I've been pounded by Devastator, Primus." He shook his head, bringing one hand up to rub at an audio horn. "Ratchet, I'm seeing double." He shook his head again and blinked, still seeing a second Prowl sitting on the berth next to his. "Ow."

"Lay back down, Sides."

Sideswipe obeyed grudgingly, lowering himself back down gingerly and twisting to look at Prowl. "What are you doing here?"

"I was talking to Ratchet. And waiting for you to wake up."

The red warrior shivered, and Ratchet pulled blankets up and over him from the foot of his bed. Sideswipe settled under them, offering the medic a small grin. "Why? I don't even remember how the slag I ended up back in here."

Both Prowl and Ratchet tilted their heads.

"You don't"

Sideswipe blinked slowly. "I remember crashing on the couch, and I woke up when Sunny pulled me off of Slingshot. There's nothing in between."

Prowl looked uncertainly at Ratchet, who nodded and fiddled with some of the controls on Sideswipe's monitor.

"I will talk about the situation with Optimus Prime," said Prowl after a short pause. "Rest, Sideswipe." The tactician left, and Sideswipe watched him go.

Turning towards Ratchet, Sideswipe lowered his optics to the floor. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Yeah."

Sideswipe's brow creased, and he struggled to find a more comfortable position on the berth.

"You held a gun to Slingshot's head, and turned it on Jazz when he tried to help."

Sideswipe remained speechless, suddenly motionless on his berth.

"I…I don't remember."

Ratchet sighed. "I wouldn't worry about it to much, son. Slingshot should know better than that by now. What he did was stupid. Prowl knows that."

"I, well," Sideswipe turned wide, uncertain optics towards Ratchet. "You think?"

"I do."

"Okay."

"Go back to recharge, Sideswipe."

And, without question, Sideswipe did.


	11. 023 Lovers

_A/N: Wow. I suck. It's almost been a whole freaking year since I updated. You can thank Okamichan for kicking my butt and getting me writing more. And, hey, if you hadn't read her stories, do it now! _

_Also, thank-you so much to won't be the Victim, reaper mendez, LiYaNa1995, shimmershadow30, Rebell, Sotwt Icehail, cmrdtekk, Tiamat1972, flamingmarsh, FunkyFish1991, Bluebird Soaring and Elita One for the aweome-sauce reviews!_

_And, finally, to all of you who asked for a sequel to the last one. I have written various versions for a follow-up, none of which I'm entirely happy with. It sort of ties in to another project I'm working on, and I need to figure out a few things before I post anything more on it._

_Enough chit-chat, on with the ficcage! Warning you now: there's slash!_

_Prompt: 023. Lovers_

In the far corner of the rec room, tucked away from the crush of mechs crowded in the main area, was a small cluster of couches. Generally occupied only by a solitary mech or two, or perhaps by a pair of lovebirds, it wasn't exactly the place where Sideswipe expected to find Smokescreen. His lover was always at the very epicenter of the room, laughing, talking, and joking good-naturedly with half a dozen mechs at the very least. Always. Smokescreen was a people-person, a social-butterfly, a charming, charismatic and all-around sociable mech, who, when on his off-hours could be found, without fail, in the largest group of mechs occupying the rec room

Unless he was with Sideswipe, of course, in which case he would often pull away from the crowd to take his lover to his quarters, or to the very couch he was on now for a cuddle and some quiet conversation. It was where Smokescreen had first approached Sideswipe, where they had first kissed, and where the diversionary tactician had first slid a hand down a seam on Sideswipe's waist put a hand on his audio horn, and found himself with an eager and aroused lamborghini on his hands, gasping desperately in his audio that they needed to go to his quarters _now_.

And it was where Smokescreen was now, one hand wrapped around Tracks' waist and the other on the back of the corvette's neck, lips locked in what was definitely a fully consensual and enthusiastic kiss.

Standing in the doorway, suddenly unable to move, Sideswipe felt his fingers loosen around the datapad he was holding. Loaded with the book file Smokescreen had so desperately been searching for, and that Sideswipe had managed to find after weeks of hunting, the datapad slipped from the warrior's fingers and clattered against the floor, skittering across the decking for a moment before coming to a rest face down. Sideswipe ignored it and, completely incapable of turning away, watched as Smokescreen gently pulled Tracks a little closer and nipped at the corvette's lower lip.

The warrior was suddenly assaulted with memories of Smokescreen doing the same to him, biting down just like that and doing that wonderful, wonderful thing with his glossa that Sideswipe couldn't seem to identify but somehow made him melt no matter how many times the datsun did it.

_Smokescreen kissing him that first time._

_Smokescreen playfully bumping into the warrior's hip before grabbing him for a quick kiss between shifts._

_Smokescreen below him, optics dark and partially lidded as Sideswipe dug fingers into transformation seams and kissed him hard._

_Smokescreen approaching him in the back corner of the rec room, and ignoring the emptied cubes of high-grade littering the ground. Gently helping him up and back to his quarters while he murmured comforting words in his audio. Never telling a soul about how Sideswipe had broken down into spark-wrenching sobs._

_Smokescreen there when he woke up the morning after, rubbing his back while he purged his over-filled tanks._

_Smokescreen arriving at his quarters, freshly waxed and buffed, holding a box of energon goodies on valentine's day._

_Smokescreen telling him that he loved him._

And now, Smokescreen, making out with Tracks in the rec room.

Abruptly, Sideswipe's optics faded to an arctic blue and his fists clenched at his sides. The rest of the room seemed to melt away as he stepped forwards, paying no attention to the datapad that cracked and shattered under his foot, and focused his attention solely and entirely on the mechs cuddled up in the corner of the room. His engine growled, a low and rumbling sound deep underneath his chest plate, and, as his ventilations picked up to compensate, Sideswipe narrowed his optics.

"Sideswipe."

There was a hand on his arm. Sideswipe whipped around, one fist reeling back and poised to strike, and found that he was looking straight into Wheeljack's optics, which were, instead of their usual cheery blue, darkened with solemnity. The engineer reached up to grab hold of Sideswipe's fist and pull it back down to his side, and, without letting go, used his other hand to latch onto the warrior's other wrist.

"I know you're angry but—"

"Angry?" Sideswipe growled, resisting the urge to yank his hands away from the inventor. "He's _there_. With _him_." He jerked his head towards the pair without breaking optic contact.

Wheeljack held the lamborghini's gaze unflinchingly, and dropped one of Sideswipe's wrists to put a hand on his shoulder and steer him towards the doorway. When Sideswipe resisted, Wheeljack simply dropped his hands to his sides and settled for pinning the warrior with a level stare.

"You don't want to hurt him."

"I _do _want to hurt him. I want to _kill _him, I—" Sideswipe stopped, mouth open, and, shoulders sagging down, let his gaze drop down to the decking.

"No you don't," said Wheeljack after a short pause, voice soft and vocal indicators flashing a soft blue, "you still love him."

Sideswipe stiffened again, and his finger joints creaked with the pressure he was putting on them. "That _slagger_. He said he loved me, that he _loved_ me, Wheeljack." He looked back up at the engineer. "The fragging aft _lied_ to me!"

Wheeljack took a step forward and put both hands on the warrior's shoulders, ignoring the way he flinched and tensed at his touch. The warrior was revving his engine, his optics nearly white as he twisted to look back at Smokescreen and Tracks, and Wheeljack abruptly shook his shoulders to turn him away.

"_Don't_. Don't let yourself get worked up over this. He's not _worth _it."

Wheeljack tried to yank the warrior towards the hallway again, away from Smokescreen, away from Tracks, and away from the optics that were surreptitiously starting to watch them. He cursed under his breath when Sideswipe resisted, and tightened his grip on the lamborghini's shoulders. They were nearly vibrating under his touch, humming in time with the warrior's growling engine.

"He lied. He _lied_." Sideswipe glanced back at Smokescreen who was squeezing Tracks' shoulder tire and drawing the corvette closer. "He's right there, he's cheating on me right _there_."

Wheeljack jerked the warrior back towards him and locked his optics onto his. "Then he's not worth it. If he's doing that, he doesn't deserve you, Sideswipe."

Sidswipe's optics burned nearly white, and the whine of tensing hydraulics underneath his plating was getting louder. "He said that he _loved_ me."

Sideswipe's voice was beginning to crack and fitz with emotion, and Wheeljack was finding it hard to not launch himself across the room and rip Smokescreen a new one himself. The warrior, normally so composed, was coming undone at the seams. His body language radiated a furious anger, but his words, and the almost desperate look in his optics, spoke of real hurt. Wheeljack, quite suddenly, wished furiously that Sunstreaker were here to calm his brother down. He couldn't tell right now whether Sideswipe was going to burst into tears or mangle Smokescreen until he was unrecognizable even by his own creator, but neither option was a good one. Sunstreaker would have been able to pull his brother aside and talk him down, but Wheeljack, despite being a fairly good friend of the warrior's, didn't have much experience with this sort of thing.

"Why don't we go for a walk, Sides?" Wheeljack gently tried to pull the warrior away, and Sideswipe growled, actually _growled_ in response.

"That fragger needs his aft to be handed to him."

Definitely leaning towards anger then. Wheeljack had only seen Sideswipe well and truly furious and a handful of occasions, he would much rather not have it happen it again. He was _scary_ when he was mad, scarier even than Sunstreaker, if only because it was so unusual to see Sideswipe so openly hostile towards his own comrades.

"You need to _calm_ down." Wheeljack emphasized the point with more pressure on Sideswipe's shoulders. "You go over there, and you_'_re going to lose it. Don't tell me you won't, because you _will_, and there won't be anything anyone here will be able to do to stop you."

Sideswipe's optics flitted briefly around the room before settling on Wheeljack's face again. What the engineer had said was true. Half of the occupants of the room were minibots, the rest were scientists, scouts, and lightly built mechs without much power in their frames. Tracks himself was no lightweight, and Smokescreen and Wheeljack were fairly heavily armoured themselves, but, even the three of them combined might have a hard time holding the warrior down if he chose to attack.

"Who knows what kind of damage you'll do before someone gets here to help? You don't _want_ that, Sideswipe. You don't want to hurt him."

Engine cycling down a notch, Sideswipe let himself be led into the corridor, and shook off the engineer's hands before slumping against the wall. Optics shuttered, he pulled in a few slow breaths before meeting Wheeljack's optics again.

"Thanks"

"No problem."


	12. 060 Drink

Author's Notes: First and foremost, huge thanks go out to Okamichan for beta-ing this for me. Secondly, I offer you all my greatest apologies for the unexpected hiatus. Hopefully that won't happen again.

EDIT: Huge thanks to Tiamat1972 for pointing out to me that had eaten up all my formatting. I'm so sorry for the previous mistake, hopefully this is easier to read now!

Prompt: 060. Drink

Stylus tapping rhythmically against his desk, Prowl shut down the data pad in front of him. He reached for the next one to be checked over. Sideswipe's crooked scrawl covered the screen, blotted by black smears and smudges caused by Primus knew what. Prowl suppressed a grumble and brought the screen closer to his face. His optics whirred quietly, adjusting his focus and magnification settings. It was no use, he could read the odd sentence fragment here and there, but too much of it was obscured by messy splotches to make it even partially understandable.

Sighing, Prowl fiddled with the pad's controls, and tried to make the warrior's scribblings more legible by adjusting the contrast and brightness setting. When this failed, and his attempts to reboot the pad did nothing but reverse all if his previous efforts, Prowl tossed the pad aside. He'd have to call Sideswipe in and tell him to work on his handwriting or type his reports; Prowl had a hard enough time deciphering Wheeljacks' reports, he didn't need to waste more time trying to read the warrior's, as well.

Prowl plucked his stylus up from the desk's surface and pulled the next pad towards himself. A sigh of relief left his vents when he saw Mirage's neat signature at the bottom. Stylus hovering over the screen, he nearly jumped out of his seat when the battle alarm sounded, much louder than he remembered it ever being before and echoing inside his office like one of the unholy, off-key, "alternative" music concerts Blaster enjoyed. Doorwings shooting upwards, he slammed his hands down on the desk in surprise. His stylus clattered against the datapad before sliding across the glossy screen and flying towards the opposite end of the room to hit the wall and fall to the ground in a splintered mess. Prowl stood abruptly to stalk across his office and hit the door control, bracing himself for whatever chaos was bound to be going on outside.

For a short moment, Prowl just stared. The ceiling-mounted sirens, which normally blinked a rhythmic pulse of white light, were all flashing at varying rates and creating a dizzying lightshow that was oddly reminiscent of the kind Jazz specialized in. Mechs ran in all directions, colliding with each other, the walls, and, in the case of one particularly uncoordinated mech, their second in command. The mech, a vibrant orange transport of some kind, ran straight into Prowl's protruding bumper and sent the tactician flying into the door-frame of his own office. He crashed into it with an echoing clang, and would have fallen backwards onto his aft had he not staggered back a step and put a hand against the inner wall of his office to catch his balance. By the time Prowl had gotten himself together, the offending mech was long gone, and the crowd outside of his office had, apparently, begun to thin out.

After a cautious glance in both directions, Prowl stepped out into the hall only to come face-to-face with a squad of minibots careening around the corner. Despite their short stature, they nearly managed to nearly trample him in their hurry to get past him. One of them skidded to a half-stop to salute and garble out an apology before rushing to catch up with his clamoring team-mates. Prowl watched them disappear around the corner as the rest of them hollered out their own apologies in an incomprehensible cacophony of sound, leaving him quite suddenly alone in the corridor. Slowly, one optic twitching in its housing, Prowl turned to hit the door control for his office, and watched the panel slowly slide shut.

Stepping away from the wall carefully, Prowl headed down the opposite corridor, wincing whenever he ended up directly underneath one of the wailing sirens. He swiftly lowered the input sensitivity of his audios, and, that done, attempted to hail Prime over the comm lines. His efforts were rewarded with static, as were all attempts to hail any officer on base. He still hadn't managed to open a communications link when he slunk into the command center, and nearly walked right back out at the sight of the mayhem inside.

Warriors bustled back and forth aimlessly like a pack of confused gnats, heading in one direction before being knocked into a console by someone else and heading off in the opposite direction. Though they all seemed to be moving, it was clear that nothing was getting accomplished, and none of them were really getting anywhere. Prowl frowned. Warriors on duty were supposed to report to specific officers at the sound of an alarm, and yet it seemed that a good portion of them were simply milling about the command center. They had, apparently, all come to the same conclusion that if they couldn't reach their squad chief over the comms, they should simply cram themselves into the control room and wait to be pointed in a different direction.

Prowl sighed inwardly at the chaos. Jazz was trying to herd as many of them as he could out of the command center, and was having some difficulty doing so. Most of the warriors towered over him, and it seemed he was able to do little other than grab onto arms and elbows, and push mechs out of the way. Blaster and his cassettes were parked at the main console, doing something or other with the communications network and making a whole lot of noise doing so, while a crowd of communications and maintenance mechs poked and prodded at an exposed and smoking panel of wiring nearby. Optimus Prime was at the center of it all, yelling into Ironhide's audio to make himself heard and gesticulating wildly. The old warrior was nodding at whatever it was his leader was saying, and rushed out of the room not long after Prowl spotted him. He spared a moment to nod at the tactician before shoving a disoriented looking gunner out of the way and tromping out into the hall.

Stretched up on his toes, Prowl struggled to see over the crowd of warriors. He grabbed onto the nearest pair of shoulders to balance himself and raised the volume of his vocalizer to be heard over the racket. "Prime! What's the situation?"

Optimus turned at the sound of his 2IC's voice and waded through the crowd of mechs to reach him. He grabbed hold of Prowl's elbow and pulled him towards the door. The crowd parted willingly to let Optimus through, and Prowl followed along behind him without trouble, walking in the opening he left behind him. Just as they reached the door, something behind them exploded, and the sirens cut off. Optimus glanced back into the room, spotted Blaster already waving smoke away from the communications console, and left him to it. He continued out into the hallway, and dragged Prowl out with him.

Warriors and smoke started spilling out of the door and into the corridor almost as soon as Prime and Prowl made it outside. They dispersed down various hallways, being led by various harried junior officers. Most appeared more excited about whatever action was going on than the explosion that had just gone off in the command center. Optimus pulled Prowl towards the wall, out of the path of the warriors, and, with a hand still on his shoulder, bent forward to speak into his audio.

"From what we can tell, there're some 'cons assembling in the eastern quarter of Hexacon. We're trying to get Ironhide's unit out of here to clear things up, but there's something wrong with communications, and the battle siren, apparently."

Prowl nodded and brought his tactical files on Hexacon up in his HUD, along with the list of personnel in Ironhide's unit, a disconcerting percentage of which were marked as "on medical leave". "What can I do?"

"We've got almost everyone armed and ready to go, but we're still short some heavy-hitters. Ironhide's trying to track down Tracks, Blastout and Strafe. Could you see if you can find Sideswipe and that mech he transferred with, that yellow hell-raiser?"

Prowl cooked his doorwings a little higher and tilted his head to the side. Yellow hell-raiser? "Sunstreaker?"

Optimus nodded. "Yes, that's the one. I'll be at the main entrance with Ironhide if you need me, we're hoping to get them out of here in 8 breems. I'd like you to get in touch with Blaster and monitor things from here once they do."

"I'll do what I can, sir." Optimus nodded and started to head down towards the main entrance, probably to help co-ordinate the mechs down there. He slapped Prowl on the back as he passed, and the tactician staggered forward a step before putting a hand on the wall to regain his balance.

Prowl straightened and shook his doorwings out before heading off in the opposite direction, towards the recreation deck.

He was halfway to the lounge when a veritable mob of mechs came rushing at him from the opposite direction, all trampling towards the command center and with a definite air of mass confusion about them. They stopped dead when they saw Prowl, and immediately began asking him, all at once, what the frag was going on.

Resisting the urge to ask them what had taken them so long to respond, Prowl stretched his doorwings out and rose up onto his toe-joints to get their attention. "Listen, hold on, quiet, QUIET!" Prowl raised the volume on his vocalizer, dropping back onto his heels with a clank. "Ironhide's unit is heading out to deal with a Decepticon threat, if you're under his command, head towards the main entrance now. If any of you know where Strafe, Tracks and Blastout are, tell them to head down there, too."

The mechs nodded slowly and slowly started to disperse, some continuing towards the main entrance while the rest peeled off in other directions. Among the crowd of reds and blues, a flash of vibrant yellow caught Prowl's optic, about to disappear around the corner.

"Sunstreaker!" Prowl leapt forwards, and, with a few good leaps, managed to catch the warrior's wrist and tug him back. He immediately let go when the warrior turned to glare down at him, and yanked his hand away from Prowl's.

"What?" Standing barely two hands-breadths away from Prowl and leaning forward, Sunstreaker loomed over the shorter mech, expression fierce and optics fiercer.

Prowl took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "Prime wants you to go with Ironhide's unit. Have you seen Sideswipe?"

Scowl deepening, Sunstreaker shifted his weight and jutted one hip out, casting a shadow over the strip of freshly welded metal on his midsection. "Sideswipe? He was in the rec room last I saw him. I'm not his keeper."

Prowl frowned at the newly repaired injury on Sunstreaker's middle and the blistered paint around it. "Are you fit for duty? I don't want to send you into battle injured."

Sunstreaker shrugged and turned towards the rec room, obviously expecting Prowl to follow. "I'm fine, it's just cosmetic damage." He sped up his pace. "There's no time, anyways. You're obviously short a couple heavy-hitters, and we don't have much time to dawdle in the hallways."

Prowl was forced to agree with him, and jogged quickly to catch up to the warrior. Sunstreaker's long stride had Prowl hop-skipping every couple of steps to keep up with him, doorwings bouncing uncomfortably in their hinges as he trotted hurriedly down the hall.

Sunstreaker didn't slow down, and if he noticed Prowl's uneven, hurried gait, he didn't say anything. He only stopped when they reached the rec room, stepping back to allow Prowl to walk in first, and following after him slowly.

Sideswipe was at the back of the room, sitting on a swiveling chair at the long counter with his back to both Prowl and Sunstreaker. The rec room had long ago been emptied of everyone else but him, and the warrior showed no signs of having even heard the wailing alarm just a few breems ago. Partially sprawled against the counter with his head supported in his palm and a stack of empty cubes next to him, he looked like he'd been there awhile. One long leg dangled loosely off of the edge of the seat, but the other was stretched downwards and braced against the base of the counter, pushing against it idly to swivel the chair back and forth.

Prowl frowned and navigated around an upended sofa, probably knocked over by whoever had been occupying it when the alarm sounded. "Sideswipe, we need you down at the main entrance."

The red warrior didn't respond, so, now only a few paces away from the mech, Prowl sped up his pace to walk around the barstool.

"Sideswipe?"

"Heeeey, Pro'l" Sideswipe tilted his head and grinned up crookedly at the officer, sloshing high grade from his partially filled cube onto his fingers.

Prowl, optics wide and doorwings stretched back, gaped at the warrior. "You're overcharged."

Sideswipe giggled. "A'yup." He brought his cube up to his lips and drained it, before tossing it down among the rest of the empty cubes. "Feels good." A hiccup burbled up from his tank, and he pushed himself off the counter to sway unsteadily on his stool.

Prowl's shoulders stiffened and he turned to look up at Sunstreaker with his fists clenched at his sides. "You knew he was drunk," he said flatly.

"I knew he was drinking." Sunstreaker crossed his arms and took a step back, gaze flickering towards Sideswipe for a moment before turning back to Prowl. "I didn't know he was drunk."

"Heey, I'm right here ya'nno." Sideswipe tried to glower at them but the expression quickly melted into a loopy grin as he beamed at the tactician.

Resisting the urge to roll his optics, Prowl grabbed Sideswipe's elbow and pulled him upright. Rather than take his own weight, the red mech sagged in Prowl's grip, and the tactician staggered under the unexpected weight. Sideswipe's head dropped onto the tactician's shoulder with a dull clank, and his lips brushed lightly against the transformation seam at his neck. The mech's hot breath tickled Prowl's plating, and stung his olfactory sensors with the sickly sweet stench of high grade.

"Sideswipe, you need to stand up, you're too heavy." Prowl's back and knees strained under the burden of the warrior's weight, and the tactician grunted with the effort of trying to shove him off. Sideswipe remained a dead-weight against him, and chuckled as he looped his arm over Prowl's shoulders, his fingers sliding across the base of Prowl's neck along the way.

The tactician shuddered and pushed against the warrior, scrabbling at the red chestplate with the hand that wasn't pinned against his side. "Sideswipe, get off!" Prowl gave a final shove and sent Sideswipe staggering backwards, the warrior's movements sluggish as he grabbed onto the bar stool for balance.

"I can not believe you would drink enough to lose control like this. This is no behavior for a respectable Autobot to be displaying."

Sideswipe, one arm slung over the back of the stool, grinned and tipped is head down, staring back at Prowl with darkened optics. "No one ev'r said I was respect'ble."

Prowl took a step back, nearly bumping into Sunstreaker, who growled a warning at him. The tactician flattened his doorwings against his back, but kept his attention focused on the red warrior. "What in Primus' name compelled you to drink yourself into such a state?"

"Prowl…" Sunstreaker put a hand on the tactician's shoulder, fingers squeezing the plating and leaving yellow streaks on his paint. "Leave it."

Expression blank now, Sideswipe slumped against the stool only to stagger when it swiveled under his weight. His gaze shifted towards the ground and his engine sputtered in his chest. Apparently, whatever, or whoever, he'd been hoping to forget by drinking himself to oblivion was rushing back into his processor. "I…" His vocalizer cracked and sputtered, and Prowl heard the unmistakable sound of intakes hitching with emotion.

Prowl, spark constricting, stepped forward and put a hand on the warrior's shoulder. "Sideswipe—"

The warrior's knees buckled and he sank further against the stool. It spun under his weight before toppling, and Sideswipe, his arm still looped around it, unwittingly pulled it towards himself. The stool's legs screeched across the floor before they crashed into Sideswipe's own, knocking him off balance and sending him falling towards the counter. He was micrometers away from cracking his head against it when Prowl leapt forwards and caught him under the arms.

Sideswipe gasped and stumbled, nearly tripping on Prowl's pedes. An unpleasant grinding sound emanated from his tanks, and, with one hand still clutching Prowl's shoulder, he doubled over with a groan.

"Sideswipe, are—"

Prowl's sentence was cut off by the sound of Sideswipe heaving. The contents of the warrior's tank came surging upwards, and partially processed high grade splattered against the deck plating at his pedes.

Prowl blinked. He looked down. Hot pink energon was trickling down the plating of his pedes. He shifted his optics towards the mech responsible, and they narrowed at the sight of him.

Energon dribbled from Sideswipe's lips as he coughed and dropped his chin to his chest. The hand that wasn't digging furrows into Prowl's shoulder plating was wrapped around his own mid-section. The warrior hiccuped, and slumped against his superior officer.

Optics burning and doorwings quivering behind him, Prowl gritted his dental plating. He blasted hot air out of his vents and shifted to haul Sideswipe up and shove him towards Sunstreaker. "Sober him up and get him to the main entrance. You've got 5 breems."

Prowl didn't wait to see if Sunstreaker managed to catch Sideswipe before he fell. He turned and stalked stiffly towards the exit, listening to the sound of plating screeching against plating as Sunstreaker presumably struggled to keep Sideswipe off of the ground. This was quickly followed by the sound of Sideswipe moaning and bringing up whatever was still left in his tank, and more energon spilling against the deck plating. Prowl paused at the door, one hand on the wall and the other clenched at his side. His engine thrummed angrily and his hydraulics hissed in their housings as he turned to glance back.

"You're disgusting."


End file.
